From Denver to Dulles
by Pereybere
Summary: A return flight from the desert right into hell.


**Title: **From Denver to Dulles

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. They belong to the Fox network and if they're reading this, is there any chance you could bring Bones back a little sooner?

**Rating: **I'm saying T, but only for bad lingo.

**A/N: **Hi guys! I've been away. I've been a bad updater! But I'm writing another novel at the moment and I'm also in the processes of buying a house which it turns out, is very time consuming and annoying. Forgive me if I am gone for awhile more – but I'm not away for ever. Don't forget to review! Would anyone like a continuation? Perhaps M? Perhaps MA? wink, wink

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"You should work, Angela. Work always takes my mind off bad stuff," Brennan said, insinuating herself between Booth and Angela, nestling back into the seat, preparing herself for the flight home.

"Most people," Booth said, turning his head to the window, "find that relaxing and facing their demons helps – not plunging themselves head first into something that'll depress them even more. Leave her alone, huh?" Brennan glared, folding her arms beneath her breasts in the petulant way that told Booth she was not impressed. A stance he was more than familiar with, these days.

"She's _my_ friend. I'll advise her as I want." Booth made a face, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth. For a woman with an IQ of something like two thousand, Brennan had the mental maturity of a seven year old. Maybe less.

"Can you both be quiet for awhile? You've done nothing but bicker since we left. _That's_ what's grinding on my nerves, guys." Angela shook a glossy copy of Cosmopolitan, her eyes staring at the beautiful raven haired model on the cover, wondering at just what it took to feature on one of their pages. Booth and Brennan were taking snipes at each other despite her request for silence, and her thoughts were quickly distracted again.

"…everything. But you don't know anything…"

"…calm down and stop pretending that…"

"….you should realise that your opinion is just not necessary _all_ the time…"

"…because you're afraid to find face your feelings…"

Brennan blanched as if slapped, her eyes widened in rounded globes, her lips, previously moving to quickly to react, were still and parted. After a long moment, where the tension crackled thick between them, she blinked. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice gravely in a way Booth had only heard a few times. It was never a good sign.

"Forget it, Bones," he said as the engines roared and vibrated around them. The sound distracted her for a moment, but not for long enough – the crackling tension hung thick in the air, and he sensed she was a molten volcano of bubbling emotions and opinions and biting reprimands just ready to explode.

Ka-Boom

"How dare you assume that you know me just because you've spend five minutes in my damn company. You know nothing about me. Nothing about how I work or how I think or even how I feel! You're too busy being the stiff FBI agent with the great moral values and the witty, meaningless and sometimes unkind banter! You can't say I don't face my feelings because you don't see me when I'm alone…"

"Well obviously not, or you wouldn't be alone, would you?" he replied, his voice sharper than he'd have liked. If the engines, blasting a full thrust while the airplane flew down the runway, had not been so loud, Booth suspected they'd be well on their way to annoying fellow passengers.

"See! Witty sarcasm! Ignoring a very valid point," Brennan huffed, crossing her legs, casting a sideward glance at Angela who kept her eyes closed and her mouth a tight, grim line.

"I wasn't ignoring it," Booth replied, held into his seat by the thrust of the plane, his fingers clenched tight around the armrest. He felt Brennan next to him, her body stiff. Sometimes she got tense when she flew, something he didn't understand, for she'd flew around the world and logic ought to have told her that her fears were irrational. "Bones?" he sighed, hating the crackling tension that lingered between them.

"What?" she snapped, her eyes closed, screwed shut as her jaw worked, her teeth grinding.

"Are you…?" he paused, the clouds beginning their cotton-candy coating over the land, blanketing the world below in soft, downy white. He personally liked to fly – relishing the feeling of freedom.

When he dropped his hand to hers, her lashes flickered against her cheeks but her eyes did not open and he was grateful, for he didn't want to watch her as she analysed the simple gesture. Why? He didn't want to analyse it himself – which brought him back to their argument of Brennan avoiding her feelings. It made him realise two things; he was a hypocrite and everything went full circle.

The plane shuttered in an air pocket and her fingers tightened around his, a momentary show of Brennan's weakness. He liked it. A part of his male ego, needing so desperately to be fed, liked the thought of Brennan reaching out to him. The maiden of all things cool and collected, needed someone besides herself.

Shaking his head, Booth turned to the window, comforted by the infinite white outside. Things were much simpler in the sky. There was white and grey and sometimes black but there was nothing to distract or confuse things, and if emotions could be defined as anything, Booth wished they could be clouds – simple and easy to read.

Did Brennan feel the heat between their hands or was it just wishful thinking on his part? Was the flutter of her lashes against her cheek a sign of her acceptance or her fear? Why couldn't he decipher the riddle?

Fishing in his pocket for his Ipod, Booth sighed again, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in his music and listen to someone else's tales of woe for awhile.

The little device fell him his pocket, showering his lap with spare change, pens, his badge and gum, causing a murmured curse to escape his lips and Brennan's eyes flew open, intrigued by the clattering sound of money and his irritation. Seeing the money cascade to the floor, she clicked her tongue, reaching forward and scooping the coins into her hand before straightening and dropping them into his.

"You should be more careful," Brennan chastised, leaning down again and patting the carpet with her fingertips, searching for rogue coins. She found one, nestled against the fixture of the chair in front and a slip of folded paper. "Some of us don't think it's necessary to throw money around either," she added, tossing him a glare.

"Ha, Ha, Bones…" Booth said, his Ipod never sounding better. The music blocked out both his own irritation and Brennan's grumbled objections to his carelessness. Like she never made mistakes!

He turned his head, about to voice this opinion when he caught the stunned electric blue of her eyes, and frowned. Sometimes she could be so damn peculiar! "What…?" he asked, removing his earphone, listening to the sharp inhalation of breath, dropping his own eyes to the folded scrap of paper she held in her hands.

_Tell Bones everything_, it said.

Oh, he thought, his heart hammering inside his chest.

Shit.


End file.
